


Here For You

by fadewithfury (foxmoon)



Category: Broadchurch, Secret Diary of a Call Girl (TV)
Genre: Crossover Pairings, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Murder Mystery, Mutual Pining, Romance, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-27 00:42:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5027068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxmoon/pseuds/fadewithfury
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alec Hardy is investigating a serial murder case in London, when Hannah Baxter walks into the station claiming to have possibly been the last person to speak to the latest victim. From there, things take a rather interesting turn for both of them. Set after Secret Diary and Broadchurch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at anything remotely like a crime novel or police procedural. It's not based on any true events, just sprung into my head. I did my best to research certain things, but I don't claim that this is an accurate portrayal of a police investigation. Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine. Thanks for reading. :)
> 
> ***Note: This story is the exact same as it was before. I haven't made any new revisions.

I. 

Alec Hardy stood by the remains of the redemption killer’s latest victim, jotting his observations down in a notepad. Her body was posed in prayer, propped against a makeshift altar with her head bowed and candles aglow all around. A cross above on the wall and the phrase  _absolve te_  on the abandoned warehouse floor, both crudely drawn in the victim’s blood, were just the same as the previous two murders. No finger prints, no tire tracks, no substantial forensic evidence of any kind found so far.

This poor young woman was the third since the investigation had begun, but the MO is too practiced, too clean, to be the work of a novice. Aye, he’d have thought about this for a long time. Perhaps even did this before somewhere else, but with less affluent prostitutes.

Then why isn’t there a single sodding link to any previous crime in the database?

“What can you tell me?” Hardy asked one of the SOCOs nearby.

“Lividity and liver temp indicates she died between ten and eleven o’clock last evening. Cause of death is blood loss due to severed carotid artery. Incision along the neck is clean, done by blade. Other than that, there’s not much else to go on.”

“Check again.” Hardy then raised his voice so the rest of the officers could hear. “Canvass the area  _again_ , broaden the radius to five streets over. He’s targeting high class escorts; not exactly the easiest thing to get away with. He’ll make a mistake sooner or later. Check the local CV, and have the tapes sent in for analysis.”  Hardy flipped his notebook close, and stuffed it into his coat’s breast pocket. “I’m heading back. Call if you find anything.”

He turned his back to a chorus of  _yes sirs_  and stalked off towards his car, drawing a heavy sigh.  Images of the three women’s bodies, their gruesome, fatal wounds, flashed in his mind. It bloody figured. His first real case since Broadchurch and Sandbrook, since his operation, since he’d started over in London just had to be something like this.

II.

Back in his office, Alec poured over the brittle evidence they had collected thus far. It spilled out around him on the desk, on the case board nearby, pinned to walls. A kind of organized disaster of photos and forensic reports and witness testimony. There were no substantial leads on their killer, but he knew as soon as they found the murder scene of the latest victim, they’d find the break they needed.

He adjusted his specs and peered closely at the two abstract photos before him. They were close-ups of a shoulder and an elbow respectively, each found at the murder scenes of the previous two victims. If he was right, then he’d receive a call from the medical examiner to confirm that the elbow in the photo from the previous murder scene in fact belonged to the latest victim. Meaning that the killer was indeed taunting them with photos of his next victim. Well, fuck him. A pattern was forming, making things more predictable, and making his job just a little bit easier.

There was a knock at his door as he pinned the photos back to the board. “What?”

An officer entered. “Sir, there’s a woman here.”

Hardy stared at the officer, who shifted uncomfortably.

“Er, sorry, she says she knows—knew— the victim. Name’s Hannah Baxter, might’ve been the last to speak to her.”

“Oh, good. Well, take her in. I’ll be right there.” He slid his specs into his coat pocket, and grabbed the case file and his notepad. A new witness might shed more light than the sodding photos.

Or just make things more confusing. Those old spikes of hope would never go away, would they?

He shouldered through the door to the witness interview room, dragged the chair out from the table, and sat facing the woman. He slapped the case file before him and inhaled the faint scent of flowers and vanilla that lingered on the air. Looking up for the first time since he entered, he straightened his tie.

In a swift assessment, he gathered all he needed to know about her. Honey blonde hair held back in a loose ponytail. Dyed, yet not obviously so—a professional, expensive job. She wore little make-up, but the colors were perfectly complimentary to her skin. Subtle and yet elegant. Practiced. Almost did the job of hiding the tears that she’d shed on the way to the station.

She wore a plain white long-sleeved shirt and jeans, but her poise was made for designer frocks. Well, perhaps it wouldn’t matter what she wore—he cleared his throat.

"Thank you for coming in, miss-" he glanced at the notes. "Miss Baxter. I’m Detective Inspector Alec Hardy."

She nodded, hand trailing though her hair, pulling it over her shoulder. “Yeah, hello.” She smiled a little, on impulse, before she returned to worrying her lip. “Hannah, please.”

A strand of her hair was caught through her small hoop earring, curling up to touch her jaw. He blinked and looked down at the case file.

"Tell me how you knew Faye Delaney." He removed a DMV photo of the victim, and turned it towards her.

She glanced at the photo, brows drawing together. “She’s a friend.”

"Were you aware that you’re friend was a prostitute?”

Hannah sighed and rubbed her temple.

"The truth please, Miss Baxter. Anything that’ll help the case."

"Yeah." Her eyes darted back to his, sharp and exacting. “I knew.”

"Where were you that night?"

"I was at my flat."

"Alone?"

"No. I had company.” Her voice was a bit of a mutter as she traced a whorl in the wooden tabletop.

"You’ll need to provide a name for verification.”

Hannah scoffed. “What, am I a suspect now?”

He made a note in the file. “It’s just procedure, Miss Baxter. You mentioned that you were the last person to see the victim alive, correct?”

“Yes.”

"Walk me through it."

She shifted, recrossed her legs. “We’d gone out for drinks, and she had another client, so she had to go. She called me around half nine to check in, and that’s the last I heard from her.”

"Did she tell you anything about this client?"

"A bit, yeah. He’d booked her a couple hours prior for an overnight—a new client. I told her that wasn’t a good idea, but she said he checked out."

He tilted his head with a squint. “Why wasn’t it a good idea?”

"Because of the murders. Shouldn’t take new clients when something like that’s going on." She pressed her fingers against her mouth as her voice began to tremble. "He killed her. Shit!” Fresh tears sprang to her eyes, but she swiped them away. “Why would she take him? Fuck!”

Hardy’s fingers twitched, an urge to reach across and take her hand overcame him, but he ignored it and remained quiet whilst she gathered her resolve.

"Is there anything else? Anything at all, no matter how insignificant?”

“Um, yeah, she met him at the Rosemont.” Her voice broke and she took a deep breath.

“Give you a room number?”

“No, but she said the room was posh. Probably a suite, they’ve thicker walls. Oh, god.”

He stood. “Just a moment.” He opened the door and leaned out.  “Mill—er, Irving, we’ll need forensics over at the Rosemont, start with the executive suites. Witness account indicates the last victim called her from there at half nine.”

Glancing back into the room, he tilted his head as he caught Hannah’s eyes roving over him before she looked away. If he didn’t know better, he’d assume she was assessing  _him_.

But, she was also fidgeting. A lot. Touching her face, her hair. He sensed an undercurrent of fear, could practically hear her heart beating from across the room. There wasn’t a need to ask if she shared her late friend’s occupation; that much was clear to him from the details she’d shared.

“Would you like water? Tea?” He began to gather up the case file.

“No, thanks.”

He watched her lick her lips and avert her eyes, and that’s when he noticed the overwhelming sorrow. Right in the pull of her brows and the hint of dark skin under her lashes as she looked down at the table. He swallowed and relaxed his fingers, which had curled around the case file a bit too tightly. This time when he spoke, his voice was soft and low.

“Miss Baxter, we’re doing all we can to find out who did this.”

She nodded, and rubbed under her eye with a finger before flashing a forced smile. “I know. Thanks.”

The smile caught him off guard, and he had to blink the memory of it away before he could continue. It wasn’t even a real smile, but her face brightened nonetheless.

“Er, just a few more questions.” He opened his notebook again, thinking of the photos and how the victim’s had to have been stalked beforehand.

Hannah nodded. “‘Kay.”

"Had she mentioned anything to you in the past few days that might’ve seemed off? Or, had she been behaving differently?”

“No, not at all. That’s just it.” Her voice wavered again. She sniflfed and took a calming breath. “Knew something was off when I didn’t hear from her this morning. I was about to ring you lot when she didn’t answer her mobile, and that’s when I caught the news. Fuck, I can’t believe she’s—” She brought her hand to her brow, shielding her eyes from him.

“I’m sorry.”

Hannah sniffled again, and Hardy pushed a box of tissues towards her. She took one and dabbed her nose as tears slipped from her eyes. “I told her it was a bad idea. She—she thought she was safe. I should’ve told her not to do it. Jesus Christ, we knew about this! She needed the money badly, she said. I told her I’d help, but she—”

“It’s not your fault this happened. I’m doing everything in my power to stop him from harming anyone else, and your testimony has been invaluable to me. For her.”

Her eyes met his, shining in the dim fluorescent light, but she said nothing.

With a heavy sigh, he slid a business card over to her, and his fingers lingered as she reached for it. “I won’t keep you. If you think of anything else, don’t hesitate to call.”

She took the card and slid it into her purse. “Thank you.”

“Stop by the office to provide your information in case we need to reach you.”

She nodded.

He stood, and she followed suit, hooping the strap of her purse over her shoulder. As she made her way past him and towards the office by the exit, she glanced back at him over her shoulder.

He watched her go, focusing on where her jaw met her ear because he didn’t have the audacity to look any lower. The way she walked, though, couldn’t be missed either way. The sun would set in the sway of her hips from now on.

III.

As Hardy suspected, there was nothing substantial at the hotel with which to identify the killer. Did the bastard have any goddamn fingerprints? Not even a bloody stray hair to be found. High class prostitutes were an unusual target. They had the privilege of being far more discerning, and yet somehow the bastard had figured out how to lure three of them in six months. Not to mention, he’d been able to trail them and take photos with which to taunt the police.

He thought of Hannah—of Miss Baxter—and his mood shifted from anger to empathy, heart clenching uncomfortably in his chest. He braced himself for the crushing ache, knowing it wouldn’t come, but still the anticipation of it would likely never go away. 

A SOCO approached him before his thoughts could wander too far, and handed him an evidence bag containing a photo. He slid on his specs and inspected it through the bag.

“Shit.”

“What is it, sir?” asked the SOCO.

“This’s a photo of the witness, the one from this morning. Keep looking. I need to go.” He didn’t even wait for a response before he stormed off.

IV.

Hannah was affixing a dangling, bejeweled earring to her ear when she heard the door buzzer. Odd. Henry wasn’t due to arrive for at least another hour. She grabbed her mobile and hurried over to the com, but her finger stalled over the button as a vision of herself lying cold and dead in a forest somewhere slammed into her mind. She choked on a gasp, squeezing her eyes shut as the fear coursed up her spine.

Her mobile then lit up, Hardy’s number and name filling the screen. She’d never felt so relieved in her life.

“Hello?”

“DI Hardy. I need to come up. It’s urgent.”

Her stomach dropped, relief swept away by fear once again. She pressed the button on the com to let him enter the building, and then slipped on a silk kimono-style robe to cover the lace lingerie, hands shaking as she fumbled with tying it closed. Shit!

She was fairly certain that Hardy was on to her profession, so looking the part wasn’t really her concern. But, then again, it was. He’d know she was about to take a client, and she wasn’t in the mood to be scolded for doing something so risky at a time like this.

His knock at the door made her jump. She peered through the peephole to verify that it was Hardy, along with another officer, and so she opened the door, bracing herself for whatever was to come.

Hardy swept past her and into her flat without so much giving her a second glance. “We have a problem.”

“Please, come in.” Hannah forced a smile, and closed the door once the other officer indicated he’d remain in the hall.

Hardy finished up a visual sweep of her flat, and looked her way at last. There was shift in his expression at the sight of her—his eyes unfocusing, and his posture straightening—but it dissolved as quickly as it had appeared.

“Why are you—are you alone?”

“Yes. What’s going on?”

He searched her face, eyes settling on her throat as he held up an evidence bag containing a photo. “I suspect this is a photo of your neck. Could you verify it for me?”

Hannah took the bag and peered down through the film of plastic. She stroked her neck absently as she studied the photo, twining a few strands of her hair through her fingers. It definitely was her neck, as she could see a blurred wave of hair and the glimmer of one of her earrings just out of focus. Her heart began to race, and she jerked it back towards him.

“What the hell? Why do you have it?”

He’d been watching her fingers when she looked up, but his eyes met hers at the accusation in her tone.

“It was found at the hotel. It’s the killer’s way of taunting us. Telling us he’s already selected his next victim, because he thinks he’s that good.”

“Oh, my god.” Hannah sat on the sofa, drifting as though she were in slow motion.

He moved to stand close to her.

“I’ve already called in for a protective detail, so you’ll be safe. All right? I’m here because we’re gonna need your help.”

“ _My_  help?”

“Yes. It should be obvious that we know you’re an, ehm, an escort—Belle, correct?”

Hannah held her breath.

"But you’re not in any trouble for that. Has nothing to do with the case, all right?”

That didn’t quite ease her mind, but she’d also rather not be murdered, so, she’d take her chances. “You have people coming here now?”

“Aye. We’re ahead of his game, so we’ve got to stay that way.”

“Well, then. If you don’t mind, I need to make a quick call.”

He scratched his stubbled chin. “Why?”

“I’ve a client coming. Why d’you think I answered the door in my stockings?” She held out a leg, showing off her calf and the black stilettos.

 “Don’t—” He sighed and scowled as he looked away. “I find that surprisingly idiotic of you after this morning.”

“He’s a regular, thank you. I’ve known him for years; he’s harmless. Look, I needed to get my mind off of it. I could barely think straight without—without seeing myself bleeding out in the dirt. I feel mental; I’m bloody scared!”

“Fine! Fine. I’ll wait.”

She stood and went for her mobile. Henry picked up with his usual sensual greeting, and she smiled into her shoulder as she gave him a vague lie about her dad falling ill and needing to go see him. They made plans to reschedule, and she breathed with relief as he hung up. 

When she returned to the lounge, Hardy was standing awkwardly by the kitchen, hands resting on his narrow hips as he glared a hole in the floor. He folded his arms and looked up as she came into view.

“Sorted?”

“Yeah. Right, now tell me how I can help.”

He unfolded his arms and ran a hand through his hair. “Would you like to change into something more, ehm, suitable first?”

“What’s the point if everyone already knows? Hello, officers, I’m Belle the paid whore, please come in where I conduct my business.“

He growled and turned away from her, pretending to inspect her flat again as he responded.”Because you came to us as Hannah, the frightened witness who cares for her friend and wants to seek justice for her murder.”

Hannah’s chest tightened at the gentleness in his voice that she hardly deserved. She’d always be both, and she’d make sure he knew. Just not tonight. “Yeah, I’ll just—what are they going to do when they get here?”

“They’re going to get the layout so we can form a tactical strategy. Debrief you on your role in the process, and so on. That is, if you’re up to helping.”

“Yeah, of course.” Hannah realized that she’d been wringing her hands, hoping he’d look at her again. She squeezed her hands into fists, and then slid her fingers through her hair to rest them behind her ears, massaging lightly. “If he’s got a photo of my neck, don’t you think he’d notice that you lot have started hanging ‘round?”

“Not tonight, but from here on, that’s why this’ll be the last time you see me until he’s caught. Unless there’s an emergency, of course, I’ll always be a ring away.” He finally looked at her again, but his expression was frustratingly unreadable.

Hannah bit her lip. “But, how long do you think it’ll be till he tries anything? Can’t you, I dunno, pretend to be one of my regulars? So you can stay with me from time to time, and I mean, of course we don’t have to, um, but this is a bit much to deal with on my own.”

His mouth formed a thin line as he stared at her in silence. He then shook his head. “Can’t. There’s a chance he’s lingered around the crime scenes to observe, so I have to assume he knows my face. You’ve a friend, don’t you?”

"Right. Of course. Yeah."

"I’ll assign someone else with that task if it’ll ease your mind."

"Don’t you think maybe it would entice him more, since he’s so bloody egotistical, to come after me because he knows your face?"

"This man is dangerous, Miss Baxter. We don’t want to provoke him. Just get dressed."

"I’d rather you call me Hannah."

His mobile rang before he could respond, and so she sighed and went to change.

By the time she emerged from her room dressed in pyjama pants and an overlarge t-shirt, the team he’d mentioned had arrived and were already scoping out her flat. There were only two of them, other than Hardy, but it might as well have been the entire London police force. Her heart did little dive bombs into her stomach every time they neared anything associated with her vocation, but thankfully they seemed largely uninterested in digging through drawers.

 She made tea, offering it up for anyone who wanted it, and stood alone in the kitchen, straightening and restraightening, whilst Hardy sat at her table with the other officers going over the plan. At last, he called her over and she sat across from him with her cuppa.

Hardy looked up from the notes he’d been taking. “They’re going to start clearing out, and soon as I go over this with you I’ll be out of your hair, all right?”

Hannah nodded and sipped her tea, disappointed that he’d have to leave. His eyes were so tired, and his posture bent and worn under the weight of unknown suffering. She’d gathered from their interaction at the station that he’d been through hell, and was in London for a fresh start, but he wore loneliness like he wore that drab, wrinkled suit, and she had a mind to resolve that little problem.

He needed someone. Someone who’d need him back, and make him feel like everything he’s been through, whatever it might’ve been, was worth it in the end. She was sure she could find the embers somewhere in his spirit and stoke them back to life.

Hardy’s gruff voice pulled her back to the present. “An officer’ll be stationed down by the entrance to the building and another at the back, so any suspicious activity will be monitored. You’ll carry on as usual, but you’ll need to check in with me any time you take a… client.”

Hannah made a face. “You really want that job?”

“I want to catch a murderer.” He paused, brows pulling together. “Just how many clients do you have?”

“Depends. How long do you think it’ll be till he contacts me?”

“I’m going to assume roughly two weeks. He’s been closing the gap incrementally each time.”

Hannah glanced out of the window to the dark street below, his words dragging her back down in to that place where she was a corpse in the woods. She shook her head, casting the thought away. “Five at the most, then. I’ll probably spend more time writing.”

His exhale of relief was not lost on her, and it made her smile despite the gravity of their conversation.

“How many did you expect?”

“I’ve no idea. I’ve no idea how this works.”

“Would you like to?”

Hardy dropped the glasses he’d just fished from his coat pocket.

Hannah hid a laugh behind her hand. “I’m joking.” Sort of.

“Do you think this is funny? Your life is in danger.” He slid on his specs with deliberate effort, giving the other officers nearby a glance to see if they’d overheard.

“I can laugh if I want to. I’m not dead yet.”

“You won’t be at all if you focus.”

“I’m focusing. Promise.” She smiled at how he sat a little bit straighter after that.

“So, he’s been using a different alias each time, but they have a pattern. They’re all names of angels. Cassiel, Michael—”

“Gabriel. She said his name was Gabriel. Sorry, forgot that earlier I was so nervous.”

“It’s all right. We figured it out from her email correspondence with him. Anyway, he fancies himself some sort of redeemer of sins. Here’s a list of Judeo-Christian angels to keep nearby, though from what’s left to pick, it should be obvious.” He slid a slip of paper towards her.

“When he contacts you, make the appointment with him and ring me immediately. I’ll come over with two other officers, and we’ll stay with you. Now, what usually happens when they come to the door?”

“I invite him in, take his coat, and have him take a shower.”

“Good. Once he’s in the shower, he’s ours.”

“Just like that?”

“Let’s hope so. If he resists that bit of routine, we’ll move in when we’ve ensured your safety. Dissuade him from meeting anywhere but here.”

Hannah sat back in her chair and visualized every horrifying scenario that could possibly unfold as the other officers finally cleared out of her flat. Hardy stood and stuffed his glasses into his coat pocket, the scrape of the chair startling her.

“I’m off now as well, but like I said, call me if you need me. If you notice anything suspicious, such as someone following you, don’t try to convince yourself you’re paranoid, just call me anyway. I don’t care.”  He tilted his head when she didn’t look at him or respond. “You all right?”

She nodded and smiled as she stood. “As all right as I can be, considering.” She folded her arms around herself as she followed him to the foyer.

Hardy paused there just before opening the door. “Did you say if you knew anyone who can stay with you tonight?”

“Yeah, I’ll call a friend over.”

He nodded, taking a deep breath. “Good.”

“D’you want to, maybe… have coffee in the morning?”

“We can’t.” He opened the door. “Get some rest, Miss Baxter.”

Her stomach sank as the door closed behind him.

V.

Plunged into silence, she locked and bolted the door, then turned off the lights in her flat. She moved to her bedroom like a ghost, going through the motions of getting ready for bed but not quite being present in them. As she wiped makeup off of her face, she decided it’d be best not to call Ben or anyone else. She didn’t want them to worry, nor did she want them to somehow compromise the strategy by acting out of character.

She slipped into bed and stared at the ceiling—unsurprisingly, it was impossible to sleep. Her mind kept nurturing her fears, flashing images of death and horror. She attempted to combat them by going over scenarios of how she’d fight off the killer if he broke into her flat, cornered her in an alley, or snagged her from a carpark. She agonized over what she could’ve said differently to Faye to get her to not take the client. If only she’d been more forceful, more scathing.

At last she found a bit of solace when her thoughts drifted to Hardy. He was so brusque, so serious about his work, but handsome under the poorly managed stubble and tired eyes. Most people probably kept their distance, respecting the formidable wall he’d built around himself. But those little glimmers of concern he’d shown for her, the warmth in his eyes when he finally looked at her earlier, broke through his grey exterior, making her heart flutter.

He probably just needed a good shag. And a trimmer, but that wasn’t as important to her impulses. She closed her eyes and let her mind wander to what she’d do soothe his worries, and help him forget those shadows that haunted him. There was also a bit of anger under his surly shield. Would he want to fuck away the anger? Pounding into her as she bent forwards, arms stretching out to grasp the sheets as her knees dug into the mattress/

Or would he rather she take control for a change? Her hand slid down her vest top and into her knickers as she imagined climbing atop him, peppering kisses on his thighs and up his abdomen as her breasts brushed against his cock. It was hard to tell how fit he was under the loose suit, but the way it hung on his broad shoulders and narrow waist gave her enough to go on. She smiled, finding herself slick already as her fingers glided over her clit.

But release wouldn’t come, no matter how aroused she was by the thought of his face tense with ecstasy. She chased it for as long as she could till the fears swirled back, cooling the heat in her core. She turned to her side with a frustrated groan and thought of nothing but the cadence of her breath till she finally fell asleep.

VI.

Three days without incident. Three completely normal days. Hannah had kept to her choice not to talk to anyone about her role in aiding the police in capturing a serial killer, and so far everyone remained oblivious. She was easily able to hide any anxious behavior within her very real grief over Faye’s death, so even Ben didn’t catch on that there was far more going on than it seemed.

Although she managed to schedule a visit with Henry the evening before, she’d chosen to forego taking clients and instead spent most of her spare time working on her next novel. Fiction, this time. The café around the corner from her building would do for ambiance.

She made her way there, looking over her shoulder the entire time. Inside the café was cozy, with few patrons and the relaxing strum of an acoustic guitar playing in the background. Settled in with a frothy coffee and her laptop, she set to reading over the last few paragraphs she’d written.

Rubbish. All of it. What was she thinking? It was hard enough to write the other sodding book, and that was about real things that actually happened! She sighed, wondering just what else she possibly could do with her life once the clients ran thin. Her last photo shoot required a bit more doctoring—the smile lines by her mouth had become rather a nuisance, and some of the softness of youth was gone from her features. The photos on her website badly needed an update, though.

Hardy’s voice saying ‘Belle’ rang out in her mind. Oh, god. He must’ve looked at her website. She smiled against her shoulder at the thought of it, and caught sight of a familiar silhouette. A glance at the counter revealed none other than the man himself, his lanky form once again enshrouded in that damn dreary suit.

After receiving his cup of what was most likely plain black coffee, he found a seat several tables away and began to work on a case file. His long fingers pried open the folder, and she noticed for the first time that he had no wedding ring. Divorced, she surmised. Probably has a kid in that case, but not in his custody.

He looked up then, making direct eye contact. She fought the urge to look away, but it made no difference as he just went right back to focusing on his work. No smile, no nod. Not a damn thing! Hannah pursed her lips and picked up her mobile, entering a text.

i _deduct that you_ _’re ignoring me_

She hit send and waited, biting her lip.  He glanced at his mobile, but resumed his work without a response. Hannah shot a glare his way, but he continued to play indifferent. She sighed and went back to her silly novel, willing the words to come that just wouldn’t fucking come.

Five minutes later, her mobile screen lit up with his response.

 _You_   _’re not a very good detective._

She smiled at his perfect punctuation and use of capitalization. She quickly typed a reply.

_are you spying on me then?_

This time, his response was immediate.

 _I_   _’m trying to get some work done._

Hanna’s heart sank, the flirty buzz she so wanted to forge between them clipped short. Blimey, even in text form he could sound like a bit of an arse.

 _i_   _’ll stop bothering you_

Again, there was a long pause before he responded.

 _You_   _’re not bothering me._

Hannah tucked her chin as she smiled.

_can I come and sit with you?_

_No. Sorry._

Rolling her eyes, she set the mobile aside, and looked back to her writing, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Several minutes passed and she just grew more and more frustrated. Grief, fear, and a hovering DI had won over creative inspiration. Just as she began to pack away her laptop, another text flashed on her mobile screen.

 _I_   _’ll be here again on Monday. Same time._

Hannah smiled at the text, but not at him. Licking her lips, she made a show of not responding, slipping her mobile into her purse, and packing up her belongings. She stopped to toss her carry-out cup in the bin by the door, and caught him watching her walk away in the glass.

Who’s not a good detective now? Oh, she wanted to text that to him so badly, but thought better of it as she pushed through the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Alec remembered little before he began to stir. It wasn’t quite a sex dream. More like a collection of impressions and sensations that pinned his first cognizant thought to the idea of Hannah straddling his hips. He lingered there on the cusp of sleep, letting the fantasy spill over him like her hair would across his shoulder as she’d lean down to kiss him.

He adjusted his pyjama bottoms, freeing his erection from the pinching waistband, and sucked in through his teeth from the jolt of pleasure that it brought him. Guilt followed instantly, like a blast of frost through his veins, and he opened his eyes to check the time.

4:30am

Groaning, he turned to his side. She was a witness under his protection. A practical stranger. An escort. Not to mention, younger than him by ten years at the least. He shouldn’t get involved, not even in his own mind. He repeated the words silently, a mantra to conquer the persistent haze of arousal.

His eyes drifted shut, and all he could see was her smile. Her eyes. Her hand stroking her neck as she studied at the photo evidence a few days ago. Her voice then drifted into his thoughts, how the most innocuous statement spoken from her lips made his skin tingle.

What was she wearing under the robe? What sort of things would she do with  _him_?

His cock twitched, and he pressed his hand over his eyes, taking a calming breath through his nose. This was absurd. Just because she had sex for a living, didn’t make it okay. He shouldn’t, he can’t—but it was 4:30am, it had been quite a while, and he was alone, so. He turned to his back once more, and cupped his straining erection.

He let his thoughts wander, ignoring the pull of guilt in his gut. All too quickly, she was astride him once more, eyes closed as he slid up into her. He watched her rise and fall, the robe dropping off of her shoulder to expose one of her lace-clad breasts. His actual hand found its way into his pyjamas and around his cock, stroking lazily as the fantasy unraveled.

She’d toss aside the robe, and he’d reach up to touch her breasts, feel her nipples taut through the finely stitched patterns of petals and swirls. What sort of sound would she make then? His eyes rolled back and he relaxed further.

He’d rut up into her as she set a quicker rhythm, and he’d dig his fingers into her thighs, making her moan. It would be impossible to keep from watching her, and yet impossible to keep his eyes open. His hand sped up, the pressure in his groin tightening as he neared release.

She’d arch as she came, grinding herself against him, her eyes squeezed shut, mouth open, neck exposed, earrings—

Her earrings…? Her bloody earrings! Why hadn’t he asked her about them before?

It was a bit like being caught as a teenager in his fucking room, the sheer flood of dread and shame that crashed through him. His arousal faded swiftly after that, and he sat up, checking the time.

4:53am

She was a witness under his protection. A practical stranger. An escort  _wearing earrings in an evidence photo_.

He turned off his alarm, which would go off in seven minutes anyway, and slung his feet around to the floor as he sat up. Sighing into his hands, he worked to shake off the fantasy that still lingered around him like wisps of incense, filling his nostrils with flowers and vanilla.

_She was a witness in his case; under his protection. A practical stranger._

He showered and dressed for the day with the news on in the background. His interview with the press kept playing on a loop as the newsreader reminded everyone that DI Alec Hardy was leading the investigation of a serial murder involving London escorts. It also seemed pertinent to remind the audience that he had a troubled case history, including the apparent bungled investigations into murders of children in two small towns. How could he possibly handle a serial killer in London?

“At least they’re not innocents,” claimed a person interviewed from the street. “Still very sad, indeed.”

Unbelievable. Young women were being murdered to fulfill some sick fuck’s fantasy, and people were splitting hairs over their relative innocence. He’d been giving this case the same level of diligence as he had done with every case that’d ever landed on his desk, which he repeated to the press in the interview footage before they shunted off to another story.

Of course it was a short segment, there and gone without much of a fuss other than to prod at his old wounds.  The press wasn’t as interested; the public was complacent. He turned off the telly and threw the remote at the sofa a bit too roughly.

He gathered the files he had taken home over the weekend, and headed in to the station, aware that he was scowling at passersby, and not giving a single shit about it.

 

At his desk, he stared at Hannah’s number on his blackberry. Call her, have arrangements made to bring her to the station where he could question her about her earrings in the photo. And then have her brought home. Quick, practical, professional.

He moved his finger to dial, and hit the wrong button, bringing up the text conversation he had with Hannah instead. Oh. He read the conversation a few more times. She’d wanted to sit with him, and that did a funny thing to his insides back when he had first gotten the text, and the same thing happened now.

_She was a witness under his protection._

His fingers began to move over the awkward keypad as he typed a text that he shouldn’t be sending.

 _Can you meet now at the caf_   _é? Important question to ask._

Thunder sounded in the distance, and he glanced outside at the grey sky as he awaited her reply. Seconds became minutes, and he rubbed his temples. He had to brief the department on their current strategy soon.

Finally, as he was about to head out to do just that, her reply came through.

_sorry was asleep, be there in 20?_

_Perfect. Thanks._  He responded, and forced the corners of his mouth down as he headed out of his office door.

 

Alec pushed into the café, soaking wet from the rain that had decided to pour like the bloody Niagara Falls just as he parked his car a street over. Hannah was already there, sitting where he’d sat the last time, and when she looked up to see him he no longer cared about his soggy clothes.

He drifted towards her, wet shoes squeaking stupidly and rain dripping from his hair. How did she manage to keep dry and soft? Oh—umbrella hooked to the back of her chair. She smiled as he drew near and pushed out the seat opposite of her with her foot.

“Hi, Hardy.”

It wasn’t until he sat across from her and pulled the case file from under his mac, where he’d kept it dry,  that he realised he didn’t smile or greet her or anything. In fact, he was fairly certain that he’d been glowering.  (Why did it matter again?)

She seemed unbothered, though.

“Oh, look at you. Don’t you have an umbrella?” Hannah asked, and then shook her head. “Nevermind, don’t answer. You’d be dry if you had one.”

He felt compelled to smile at that, but only managed a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll live.”

“But you can’t be comfortable. Can I get you something? Coffee? A towel?”

“No, thanks. I’m fine.”

“Suit yourself.”

Her long fringe was pulled away from her face by a thin headband. That along with the lack of makeup brought out the richness of her eyes as she watched him over the rim of her mug. His earlier fantasy attempted to reenter his mind, superimposing this sleepy, sweet version of her with the one of her as Belle. But this time he’d be on top.  _Stop._ He fought it off as he opened up the case file, and hoped the dim lighting hid the heat in his cheeks.

“I saw the news,” she said.

“Don’t watch that rubbish. You, ah, know I don’t feel that way, right?”

“I know you care.” She smiled. “You also looked good on camera, though. Nice and dry.”

He squinted at her; she’d obviously been viewing some other programme. “Erm…”

There was a mischievous glint in her eyes as she licked her lips. “You said you had something important to ask?”

“Aye, let’s get to that. The earrings you’re wearing here.” He slid the photo towards her again. “Do you remember the last time you wore them?”

She leaned forward to look at it, playing with a strand of her hair. He watched the subtle change in her expression as she mulled over the image.

“Yeah, um, a couple times recently, but this had to’ve been when I went to that, uh—a private party. My hair’s down, and I wore a strapless dress.”

“Can you be more specific? Date, time?”

“Two months ago to the day, and from ten till three in the morning.”

He sat back. Faye Delaney was still alive. That was  _significant_  information. There had to be a way to veer the conversation towards going to a more private place to discuss this, but he didn’t want to be the one to suggest her flat, which of course he knew was right around the corner. Instead, he went with a comparatively innocuous question.

“Who hosted this party? Do you recall anyone there taking photos? Was it a—ehhh—  _Eyes Wide Shut_  sort of thing?”

“No." She scoffed, and then glanced around, chewing on her lip. "Can’t really talk about it.”

Hardy sighed. “I know you don’t want to give away information concerning your, ah…”

“My profession?” She raised her eyebrows pointedly.

“Miss Baxter—”

She sat back, and he realised she’d been sitting cross-legged in the seat. She took a sip from her mug and watched a few people enter the register queue. He wasn’t an idiot. He could tell that it annoyed her to be referred to in the formal way. But it was a reminder to himself more than anything to keep his distance. It was protocol. Polite.

“Well, go on then,” she said, finally looking back at him. “ _DI Hardy_.”

He packed away the photo, refocusing his thoughts to ignore the way that stung.

“I need all the information you can give me. I promise I’ll be discreet. You want this arsehole put away, I know you do.” He held her gaze for several seconds, and her expression softened.

“Yeah, ‘course. Haven’t even been able to have a funeral. Keep imagining her in one of those big metal drawers like you see on crime shows. God.” She looked up as tears filled her eyes.

“We should go somewhere more private,” he hedged, hoping she’d—

“My flat’s just ‘round the corner. You can dry your clothes there and I’ll put a kettle on.” She looked over his shoulder towards the front of the café. “Rain’s let up for now.”

He glanced back out of the windows. When had that happened? “Yeah. Let me make a quick call first to check the perimeter.”

 

Hardy hung back as Hannah fumbled with her flat keys. There were two sets on the ring; the one she hadn’t used looked more like a proper house key, and he filed away that observation for later.

Once inside, Hannah helped him remove his mac, and she hung it up on the coat rack by the door.

“Blimey, how’d you get wet under your coat? I’ll get you some dry clothes. Wait here.”

“There’s really no need.” He paused. “You’ve got men’s clothes just—never mind.” He rubbed his eyebrows with his fingertips and she left the room with a little smirk.

She returned with a dark blue t-shirt, socks, and pyjama trousers. “S’all I had, really. I don’t keep a whole wardrobe or anything.”

“Thanks,” he said, sliding out of his shoes and taking the clothing. He grabbed the case file and went into the nearby loo to change, hanging the damp clothes over the shower rack. When he emerged, dressed in the obnoxiously tight shirt, and too-loose trousers, Hannah was in the kitchen setting out the tea bags and mugs.

“Better?” She turned around with a smile, tilting her head.

“Dryer.”  He placed the file on the kitchen table.

She giggled. “See, now I can take you more seriously.”

“I dunno. This is a wee bit improper,” he said, voice a bit more of a mumble than he’d wanted. He couldn’t help but feel more relaxed, though it had little to do with his clothes. He chanced a glance at her, and he caught her rolling her eyes.

“Sit. I can go put on my pyjamas if it’ll make you feel more comfortable.”

Oh, no, that’s—“Let’s just cut to the chase.”

The kettle went off then, and Hannah prepared their mugs and sat them down on the table. “Be right back,” she said, disappearing into her bedroom.

She wasn’t really going to do that…was she? He sat down, trying to ignore the sudden flurry of butterflies in his stomach.

She returned seconds later with a pair of earrings, which she placed on the table between them as she joined him.

“Thought you’d want to see them.”

He stared at them, feeling foolish. “Aye, that’s—mind if I hang onto them as evidence?”

“Go on. I’m not sure if I’ll wanna wear them ever again.”

“I’m sorry.”

She rubbed under her eye and didn’t say anything.

“Back to this party. Did you go alone?”

“Was with Faye.” Hannah stilled, staring at a spot on the floor.

He slid two photos of the other two victims out from the folder. “Were they also there?”

She glanced at the photos. “No.”

“Is there a chance they could’ve been, but you didn’t see them?”

“No. Me and Faye and the other girls got together at first to go over our duty lists, and our emergency strategy in case anything happened to one of us. I’d have seen them.” She rubbed her temple. “D’you think he took pictures of us there?”

“Think it’s our best bet. That’s why I have to know where you were, and who hosted this party. They could have a guest list, and that’s all I need for now. I’ll question them myself, and your name—or Belle—will never be mentioned.”

Hannah pulled her mug closer to herself and held it to her lips, cradling it with both hands. After taking a sip, she breathed in through her nose and sighed. She then set her mug down, and what followed was everything he needed to know. The rich politician’s name, how he’d put on this elaborate birthday celebration where twenty escorts were hired to provide entertainment for his guests, the names of any other men she recognised, and the address where it took place. Most importantly—

“I trust you.”

He glanced down as she touched his hand with her fingers, a simple gesture to indicate sincerity. His own fingers twitched under hers, seeking the warmth of her hand, but then it was gone. Back to cradling her mug. The subsequent silence was filled with the sound of falling rain, and he wasn’t sure when it had started back again. He cleared his throat and grasped at the collar of his shirt as though to straighten his tie, which wasn’t there.

“Sure about that? You said you saw the news.” He took a first sip of his lukewarm tea.

She lifted her shoulder, tilting her chin towards it as she smiled. “I also looked things up for myself. You did everything you could, and you care. I’m trusting you with my life, and it’s got nothing to do with you being a copper. Normally that makes me nervous.” She held her smile as he met her eyes, and a soothing warmth draped over his heart that he hadn’t felt in such a long time.

His own lips twitched, curving up ever so slightly, and he looked down to the case file to school his features. “Sorry about the things people say about… you know.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I’ve heard so much worse.” Her brows met, and she pushed away her empty mug. “Anyway, I chose this job, so I take what comes with it.”

“I can relate to that.” He looked at the time on his blackberry. “I should head out. You going to be all right tonight?”

“It’s still raining buckets, you sure you have to go?”

“I’ve been in much worse.” His jaw tightened, remembering the rain-swollen river and the body in his arms. “I need to follow this earring lead, but...”

“Supposed to rain till evening off and on. I was going to stop by my house today and drop off some fresh flowers, but that’s not happening.”

Ah, that explained the two sets of keys. “You have a second residence?”

“Yeah. Well, I’m trying to sell it. Couldn’t work there while it’s on the market, so I’m renting this little flat. Oh, that reminds me. I’ve an eight o’clock. Another repeat client, nice bloke.”

His stomach churned, but he simply nodded, his mouth a thin line.

“Then I’ll try to write a bit and go to bed. Haven’t gotten any sleep lately.”

She’d spent much of her time in this flat, judging from how absurdly clean it was. He could even smell the lemon fresh scent. It also helped that the plain clothes officers stationed outside her flat had said as much.

“You haven’t told anyone, have you.”

She stood and gathered their mugs, not answering till she returned to stand by him. “No.”

“Not even that friend you said could stay with you? You’ve been dealing with this alone?” He stood as well, presuming she was giving a signal to leave.

"You’re here.”

“That’s not what I mean. I’m here to bombard you with questions, and talk about the case, which can hardly be a comfort to you.”

She reached for his hand, and brushed her thumb along his palm. “Well, maybe I like you a bit.”

His pulse hammered in his ears, and he swallowed, wondering if he heard her right. As hard as he tried to find something to say, nothing came, and his mouth went dry as she lifted up on her toes to kiss his cheek.

“I’ll let you go. I’ve an umbrella you can borrow.” She tugged him by his hand towards the loo where his clothing had been drying.

He moved like in a dream, his mind agreeing with her, fixated on solving the case, and yet his body going wherever she’d take him. He reluctantly absconded to the bathroom, and changed back into his suit—still a touch damp, but not nearly as bad as it had been. When he emerged, she was standing there with his mac and an umbrella.

“I’ll call you when he leaves,” she said.

He nodded, sliding into the coat and taking her umbrella. The door clicked shut as he walked out into the hall. He could still feel the heat from her lips against his cheek the entire ride home.

 

Two days passed, and the rain finally let up. The sunlight that poured in through the window felt so normal, and beautiful, that Hannah wanted to believe nothing terrible could ever happen in the world. But the sun was indifferent to suffering. Didn't care that her friend was murdered, and that she was held hostage by fear of the same fate.

She stopped taking clients after the one she entertained a couple nights ago. Every one of them had become a suspect even though she knew them, and knew better.

To make things worse, Hardy had not contacted her since that same night. She shouldn’t have kissed him. She’d crossed a line and now there was no going back. Classic Hannah; relationship saboteur extraordinaire.

So the logical thing to do in the breadth of loneliness was to visit Ben, but their stilted conversation had only made her feel more alone.

It was mid afternoon, and Hannah had just finished a rigorous workout to get her mind off of everything. She checked her mobile and noticed that she’d missed a call from Hardy. Wiping sweat from her brow with a towel, she immediately rang him back. His answer came before the first ring had ended.

“Hannah—are you all right?”

She panted as she answered, heart soaring. “Yeah! Just did some cardio, sorry—you…you called me Hannah.”

“I thought you’d like to know that we found the suspect’s flat in south London.”

“Oh, my god! That’s—he wasn’t there?” She turned the mobile away from her mouth as she caught her breath, and then let out a sigh of relief as she sat on the sofa.

“No, but we have it staked out. We found significant evidence linking the man who lives in that flat with the murders, all of them. The contact you gave me—he was willing to work with me after finding out that the suspect was at his party. And, well, as long as I kept him anonymous. Couldn’t have done it without your help.”

“That’s brilliant; I’m so relieved. So you have him identified and everything?”

“Yes. I’ve got all of my resources poured into finding him now.”

“How close are you?”

“He kept to himself, so not many people have seen him. Anyway, your help has been invaluable. So, thank you.”

“Of course.” She smiled, grazing her lower lip with her teeth. “You called me Hannah.”

“I thought you were in trouble.”

She clicked her tongue. “Oh, so that’s what it takes? Blimey!”

He sighed.  “Listen, you’re still at risk, likely even more so now, so you’re not to go anywhere without police escort. I have to work overtime, so I won’t be able to come around myself unless you get the call from the suspect. My DS is available to you though whenever you need her. DS Ruby Irving. She’ll be coming to visit you soon to show you a photo of the suspect and ask a few questions, so let me know once you’ve spoken with her.”

She let his words sink in before she responded. “Oh, okay.”

“There’s no evidence to suggest that he’ll deviate from his plan. It’s possible, but you should stay on the lookout for his call. Ring me as soon as you get it, you hear me?”

Though she understood why he’d taken the stern resolve up a few hundred notches, his tone still irritated her. She picked at a broken hem on her gym shorts.

 “Yes, sir.”

“Be safe,” he said after a pause, his voice suddenly gentle, and rang off before she could reply.

Her stomach twisted and she tossed the phone to the sofa. It relieved her that they’d made so much progress on the case, but this man was seriously troubled. If he knew the police were on to him, he might try something erratic. He might hurt someone else. She’d settled so far into the idea that she was next that the thought of him harming someone else…

She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping with all of her might that Hardy would be able to find him before anything like that happened. He was doing everything he could, and needed to focus now that they were closing in on the killer, but she hated it. She didn’t want this DS  _whoever_  to take his place. She wanted DI Alec Hardy, in all the ways that come with wanting.

 

After a quick shower, she slipped into skinny jeans and a purple top, and was in the process of fixing her hair when the buzzer rang.

It was DS Irving. Hannah greeted her with a brittle smile when she arrived at the door.

“Hello, DS Ruby Irving,” she said holding out Hannah’s umbrella. “I’m here to go over your upgraded protective detail, and I believe this is yours?” The woman seemed kind, with an open face and dark hair pulled back in a spiky ponytail. She was black, and young, around Hannah’s age, and wore a red leather jacket that made her a bit jealous. But that thought was quickly sidelined by the umbrella. Yeah. She’d gone too far.

“Yes, come in. Would you like tea?” Hannah gestured inside, feeling somewhat outside of her own body.

“No, I won’t be here too long.” She entered and gave the flat a look around.

Hannah leaned against the wall by the lounge, her gaze held by the motes of dust caught in a ray of sunlight.

DS Irving pulled a small photo from her pocket. “Here’s a photo of the suspect. He’s the bloke who lives in the flat we raided last night. Name’s Joseph Fletcher. You recognize him at all?”

She gave it a quick glance, and went back to staring at the dust. “No. Never in my life.”

“All right, thank you. If you see him though, let us know. Want to hold onto the picture just in case?”

“No. I’ve looked at it long enough. I’ll never forget it.”

DS Irving nodded and stuffed the photo away. “Here’s my number in case you need me.” She offered a business card.

Hannah took it and flicked the edge with her thumb. “Thanks.”

“If you want to go anywhere, you need to call me first. Don’t worry, I’m not that boring.” She smiled, her eyes warm.

Hannah grinned at that. “Well, I hadn’t felt much like going out since this all started, but I wouldn’t mind grabbing a drink. You up for it now?”

“Can’t drink on the job, but I’ll come, sure.”

“Perfect.”

And it was. It was nice to get out and enjoy the evening just for a little while, to have a drink and take the edge off the cloud of dread that had been hovering for days and days. She also rather liked DS Irving, and perhaps in another life they could’ve been friends.

But not even the bonds of friendship had been very resilient against her identity as a whore. Well, except in one special case. Hannah smiled as she locked up her flat for the night, her thoughts turning to Bambi—who had moved on, gotten married, and had a baby on the way.

A very small part of her longed for a life like that, but no. She’d never be able to stand it. What was she thinking, telling Hardy that she might like him a bit? Leading him on with a kiss and those lingering touches? It was only a matter of time before she broke his heart, anyway. The inevitability of it was like a bright sun facing down every horizon, burning up the road ahead before she could even get close enough to put out the flames.

And because she liked stoking those very same flames, she shot Hardy a text.

w _ent out with ruby, she_ _’s nice. you better be a good boss to her._

 

It shouldn’t have felt so much like rejection when she woke in the morning to find that he hadn’t replied. Well, screw him and his stupid scruffy face.

If only she had.

She sighed to herself as she picked up her mobile to dial DS Irving. It was another nice day, and she really needed to head over to her house to do a bit of cleaning, and to change out those flowers that were probably rotting away in their vases.

DS Irving arrived, and they made the short trip to the flower shop, and then went on to Hannah’s house with boxes of fresh flower arrangements. Irving helped Hannah unload some of the vases from the back seat, and they carried them up to the porch.

After setting her box down, Hannah paused on the pavement by the front door, noticing that the  _for sale_  sign was missing.

Everything else appeared to be in order, but something just didn’t feel right. Her heart began to race, and gooseflesh prickled on her arms as she took a step back to study her house, noticing all the curtains were drawn. She couldn’t quite remember if she’d closed them, and perhaps the realtor had, but still, it gave her an uneasy swoop in her gut. She remembered Hardy’s plea to call him if something seemed strange, no matter what.  _Don_ _’t try to convince yourself you_ _’re paranoid._

She turned around to head straight back to the car.

“Hannah?” DS Irving hurried after her. “What’s wrong?” She had her mobile in her hand, ready to make a call.

Hannah’s breath came quick and shallow, and her hands began to shake as she fumbled for her own mobile. “Something’s wrong. Calling Hardy.”

He picked up immediately, and she squeezed her eyes shut at the sound of his voice.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, god. Something’s wrong. The sign’s gone, it shouldn’t be gone. The curtains are all drawn, I don’t remember leaving them that way. DS Irving’s here—”

“You’re at your house right now?”

“Yes, should we leave?”

“Shit! Stay with Irving. I’m on the way.” He rang off.

Irving’s mobile rang then, and she ushered Hannah into her car as she answered.

“Yeah—okay. She’s fine. In my car. Should I—right. Yes, sir.”

Hannah watched her, the sick feeling in her stomach only getting worse as the seconds ticked by. Irving then leaned down to the open window.

“He’s on the way. Just stay there.”

Five minutes later, Hardy’s car skidded into the drive. He was out of the car in seconds, and signaled for Irving to join him.

Two other patrol cars arrived, and the officers remained with Hannah as Hardy and Irving disappeared around opposite sides of the house.

Hannah wrapped her arms around herself. A niggling doubt wormed its way into her gut—what if this was a false alarm and she’d called them out here for nothing? If the killer was here, wouldn’t he have noticed them by now? Looked out a window or something? She felt stupid, and scared, and every second that went by allowed her to further elaborate the enormity of her fuckup.

But what if the killer  _was_  here? What if he’d seen that the police had found his home and came here to hide out instead? He could be inside right now, waiting to attack. An image of Hardy’s limp body, bleeding out from a gunshot wound, jumped into her mind and she gasped. Tears slipped down her face every time she blinked, but she wouldn’t take her eyes off the house.

Movement by the window inside drew her attention, and she squinted—Hardy on his ridiculous blackberry. Static over the com in the patrol car broke the bizarrely quaint afternoon ambiance, and she listened to the call for a SOCO unit to her address.

At last, Hardy emerged from her house, shoving his mobile into his jacket pocket. He stormed up to Hannah and jerked open the door.

“Come with me. Now.”

Hannah nodded numbly, and climbed out of Irving’s car. She followed him to his, and he slammed the door once she’d settled inside.

She heard him talking heatedly to DS Irving, something about clearing out the cars because the suspect would likely return and that’d be their chance to catch him.

He then got into the car, and said nothing else until they had driven a few streets away from the scene.

“I should’ve been informed that you were going there.”

“What the hell did you find?”

He glared at the road ahead, dimple in his cheek deepening as he clenched his jaw. They were stopped at a traffic light, when he finally spoke. “He’s been in your house. Had everything set up, ready for—for you.”

“But he wasn’t there?”

“No. He’s a fucking phantom. We even checked your house last week—”

“You went to my house?” She asked, incredulous.

“We didn’t go inside, just checked around. Curtains were open, could see that there was nothing suspicious inside, so we left.”

Hannah sighed, trying to get ahold of her wildly beating heart.

“Are you angry with me?” he asked softly.

“No. It’s fine. Just had no idea.”

“Would’ve informed you if we had to go inside.” He sighed. “I’m so glad you didn’t go in there.”

Just as they pulled into a parking place outside of her flat, Hannah’s mobile rang. She nearly jumped into the air at the sound of it, and then her heart stopped when she glanced at the screen.

“Unknown number.” She looked up at Hardy.

Hardy turned to her for the first time since he’d arrived on the scene. “Go on and answer. I’m here. You’ll be fine.”

She took a shaky breath and pressed the button to answer. “H-hello?”

“Hello, Belle?”

She closed her eyes, his voice making her skin crawl. “Yes. Who is this?”

“I’m Raphael, hoping to book you for tonight. You’re gorgeous.”

“Thank you, you’re sweet, and that can be arranged.” It was so hard to sound alluring when all she wanted to do was to throw up. “What sort of experience do you have in mind?” 

“Oh, I have this one fantasy that I can’t seem to get out of my head. I know you can help me with that, Belle.”

“And what might that be?” It took a monumental effort to keep her voice from shaking as badly as her hands.

She felt Hardy’s hand take hers just when she felt like she might be pulled away by the undertow of terror that seized her chest. Squeezing his hand, she took a breath, steadying herself. She focused intently beyond the killer’s words for clues as to where he was.

“I’m a priest, and you’re a filthy whore who has come to me to repent your sins.”

Birds chirping. Footsteps. Light traffic in the distance. His breathing laboured, ever so slightly.

“But you already knew that, didn’t you, Belle? Or should I call you Hannah?”

Her blood froze in her veins. “Excuse me?”

“I know you’re fucking the police, Belle. Your punishment will hurt so much more for that, I’m afraid. I’m so sorry, but you’ve brought it on yourself.”

Hardy squeezed her hand and whispered, “Hang up.”

Hannah did, and dropped the mobile into her lap. “I’m gonna be sick.”

“I could hear him.”

“He was walking outside somewhere.” She looked down at their joined hands, and then up, searching his face. His brows pulled together in concern.

“I’m here for you, Hannah. Take a deep breath.”

Her heart would’ve soared if she hadn’t been so bloody nauseous. She closed her eyes and breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth, trying to will away those visions of herself lying cold in the forest. 

"What now?" she asked, squeezing his hand.

"I'm going to drop you off at the station where you'll be safe, and then I need to head back to the house. He'll likely try to call you again, so you'll give him a different number to call where we can listen in and trace his whereabouts."

Hannah simply nodded.

"We've got him. It's only a matter of time," he said, watching her.

His gaze lingered for a few seconds before he unlinked their hands, and started the car, pulling away from the curb. His mobile then rang.

“DI Hardy,” he answered. “Really? All right. I’m heading to the station with Miss Baxter now. Yes, thanks.” He slid his mobile back into his pocket. They merged into traffic, and he took a breath.

“He’s in custody.”

“What? Already? How—”

“Was walking back to your house when he called you, apparently. There was a bit of a chase, but we got him.”

Tears stung her eyes, and her head fell back against the headrest. Her entire body felt numb as adrenaline warred with relief. She opened and closed her fingers, still feeling the weight of his grip, not wanting to believe he’d only done it as a gesture of support. But he said little else on the drive, and kept everything strictly to business once they arrived at the station.

 

It had been two weeks since her life had been tossed into a hurricane and spat back out like a shipwreck. DS Irving had come by a few times to check on her wellbeing, but otherwise she was expected to just carry on. And she had, in a way. Faye’s funeral was lovely, and helped bring some closure to the whole thing. Bambi was on baby watch, which sorta brought back memories of when her sister had gone into labour. God had she fucked that one up.

And, she thought she’d gotten over Hardy, when she went to delete his number in her mobile and found their text message from the café weeks ago. Maybe she could just…

Her fingers moved over the letters on impulse.

_miss you xx_

Sent without hesitation. If he didn’t reply, it wouldn’t be a big deal. She’d move on; she always did. But the minutes passed, and once they became hours, the more she knew it  _was_ a big deal.

She was pouring a glass of wine to calm her nerves when her mobile rang. _Shit!_  It was him!

She put on a smile, hoping he’d hear it. “Hello?”

“It’s DI Hardy.”

She laughed a little. “Really? I thought I recognized your voice.”

“Er…How are you?”

“I’m all right, you know, just trying to get on.”

“Good.”

They both fell into an awkward silence. Hannah was about to launch into something about the funeral, when he spoke up.”

“I, erm… I miss you too.”

Hannah sat on the sofa. Well, it was more like she floated down to the sofa like a feather. She bit her lip as she smiled.

“Yeah?”

He coughed. “Do you, maybe, want to get a bite to eat?”

She closed her eyes and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from squealing. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

“Is tonight too soon?”

“Not at all.”

“I thought we could go for a walk first, if you want.”

She glanced at the time. “When did you want to meet?”

“Yesterday.” His voice broke and she heard him swear under his breath. “Sorry, that was bad.”

“Oh, no, you can’t take it back. Hmmm, not available then. How about last week?”

He chuckled, and it was the most endearing sound she’d ever heard—oh god.

“I can pick you up in an hour.”

“Perfect.”

“Perfect? You’ll be with me, remember,” he said gravely.

Hannah laughed, a nice belly laugh that she sorely needed. “Shut up. I’ll be ready in an hour.”


	3. Chapter 3

I. 

_miss you xx_

Alecspent the ten minutes that followed staring at her initial text. Even thoughthey’d already madeplans, even though by some miracle she wanted to see him a tiny fraction of how much he wanted to see her. He just had to let it sink in that she was the one who had reached out to him. She had missed  _him_.

It didn’t quite make him nervous. He had nothing to lose, really. He also wasn’t exactly put off by the idea of it not working out. A failed marriage and an intense career had made him too exhausted to fret over rejection or relationship failure. But, Hannah was a remarkable woman, and he missed her company. So of course he arranged to have Ruby follow up on a suspect in his place so he could see her. Simple as that.

 

II. 

He arrived on time, and waited outside by the foyer of her building for her to join him. She slipped through the door as someone else entered, and his heart took off at the sight of her.

Maybe remarkable was an understatement. Maybe he did a bit more than simply enjoy her company.

A little gust of wind tossed the loose waves of her hair over her shoulder, and a strand fell across her face, which she struggled to put back into place as he drank her in. All right, he needed her in his life. That was it. A knot of anxiety twisted in his stomach.

She smiled as she approached him, shoulders back and chin high. “Hello.”

His throat went dry, and he took a deep breath through his nose. “Hi. You didn’t have to dress up.”

She glanced down at her vintage rose-covered frock and red patent leather flats. “I’m not dressed up. Well, not as much as I could be.”

“You’re all right with walking, then?”

“Where are we going exactly?” She glanced up along the pavement and back to him as she stroked her collarbone absently.

He caught himself watching her touch herself, and nearly didn't register her question. “Er, just a few streets up that way.”

“I could run that distance in these shoes, so let’s go.” Her smile grew, though it became more of a squint as she shielded her eyes from the glare of the low-slung sun.

“Wasn’t finished.” He smiled a little as they began to walk. “Then we’ll cut down Rowanly, walk through the park, and a few streets over from there is this pub—”

“Wait—we’re going to a pub?” Her squint morphed into a not-too-subtle cringe.

“Er, is that okay? I thought it’d be nice and low key. It’s not a dive or anything, but we could have more privacy in the booths.”

“No, that’s—that’s fine.”

They paused at a crossroads and waited for the pedestrian light to switch over. Maybe he should've guessed that she might have more discerning tastes.

“We can go somewhere else.”

They were given the signal to continue walking, and she looped her arm through his before they set off.

“No, a pub is brilliant for a first date. This is a date, right? Or are we going out as mates? Oh, god, I thought—am I—”

“No, no. Not as mates.” He chuckled. “But, well, I didn’t want it to seem, erm…Let’s be frank with each other—that okay with you?”

“Okay.” She bit her lip. “Sure.”

“I’m divorced. I have a daughter—she’s sixteen. Her mother and I are, eh, civil. They don’t live in London, so I don’t see them often. Anyway, I wasn’t expecting to ever see you again, and here you are walking down the street with me."

"Good thing I'm braver than you."

"And better looking."

"Ta." She laughed. "You're not so bad yourself, especially now that you trimmed that beard."

He stared pointedly ahead as his cheeks grew warm. "Anyway. Tell me if I'm crossing a boundary, or pissing you off, all right? That's what I'm trying to say. I want you to like me somewhat."

"Okay." She laughed and patted his forearm as she ducked her head away to hide her own blush. "Well, my turn then. I’m an escort—”

He stopped walking abruptly. “Oh, well, we cannae do this then. I’m a detective inspector.”

Her face fell. “But—”

“I’m joking, which, by the way I’m also terrible at, sorry.”

“We’re good so long as you don’t pay to have sex with me.” She smiled up at him.

He coughed. “Aye.”

They resumed walking, finally reaching the park he’d mentioned. She’d unlinked her arm from his as they fell into a leisurely stroll through a crowded area. A couple of men watched Hannah as they wove around a low hedge, and when they rejoined, he wanted to hold her hand. His fingertips bit into his palm instead.

“So… I interrupted you,” he said.

“Oh, right. Um. I’ve no plans to stop, though I don’t take clients as often as I used to. Trying to write another book on the side, but it’s not going so well. Never been married; I’ve no children, but I’m an aunt.”

He hadn’t really put a lot of thought into her escort career outside of it being a facet of the investigation. With that out of the way, though, he found it difficult to pinpoint whether it would bother him in the long run. Perhaps she was used to that. Used to men not caring until they inevitably fell in love with her, or until they got her into bed. 

“Do you find dating difficult as an, err—” He cringed.

The question fell out of his mouth against his better judgment. Too personal. But he’d set this conversation up to cut out the bullshit, so it was probably best to get it out of the way.

“Yes.” She glanced up at him, measuring him up for her full response. “Difficult for you as a detective?”

“It’s difficult for me as myself.” He looked at her when she didn’t react. “Yes, it is. I have to be available at all hours. Sometimes I sleep in my office; sometimes I don’t sleep at all. I often have to cancel important plans.”

Her shoulders relaxed and her gaze softened. “I’ve lied in the past to men. Didn’t tell them about it, because, you know. Understandably they get a bit jealous, or wouldn’t have even given me the time of day if they knew up front. Whenever they did know, they took advantage of my feelings. Thought it meant it’d be okay for them to sleep around, or they’d pretend it didn't bother them on the surface and get passive-aggressive. I've gotten good at predicting how a bloke'll react. Not that it stops me."

He chewed the inside of his cheek in thought, his gut resonating with the latter passive-aggressive type. Those twinges of jealousy he felt whenever she mentioned her clients to him during the investigation were hard to ignore. And yet, they were different than how he felt when he discovered his wife of fourteen years had been shagging another man.

They arrived at the pub with its dark, original eighteenth century wooden façade and wrought iron-framed windows. Far more inviting to him than any seaside village.

"We're here," he said.

They entered the pub, and were seated in a booth by the window. The waitress took their drink order, and left them to stare awkwardly at each other.

Hannah twisted a napkin in her lap and licked her lips. “I’ve not put you off, have I?”

“No. Why?”

“You’ve not said much since I answered your question."

He straightened, forgetting that he could be so damn consumed by his thoughts. “Sorry. Just wondering what sort of predictions you’ve got of me.”

“Oh, no. You don’t want to know that. Self-fulfilling prophecy.”

His mouth quirked in a sideways smile. “Must not be good.”

The waitress returned with their drinks, took their meal requests, and left them once more.

Hannah sipped her wine, her eyes focused pensively on the passersby outside of the window. She then dragged a finger under the curve of her fringe to move it away from her eyelashes and smiled at him.

“Not the worst prediction I’ve ever had. Does that help?”

He paused in mid-tea preparation, flashing her a smirk. The smirk softened into a genuine smile, but only because hers was so bloody infectious. “Aye, that’s a relief. Not the worst—I’ll take it.”

She laughed. “Maybe you’ll prove me wrong.”

“I’ll do my best.” He took a sip of his tea to test the temperature. “Have you been able to sleep all right ever since the investigation?”

“It was hard at first. Kept hearing his voice in my head.” She shuddered. “Spent a lot of time with Bambi. She’s one of the only people I feel like I can talk to about it, ‘cause she used to be an escort herself.”

“I’m glad you’ve had someone to talk to.”

Her eyes moved over him, from his hair to his neck, down to his hand that curled around his mug. She tilted her head as her gaze tracked back up to meet his. “Do you?”

He furrowed his brow, confused. “Me?”

“Yeah. Do you have someone you can talk to? Must be hard to see so much death and violence. The worst things people are capable of sitting in manila envelopes lying on your desk.” She licked her lips and leaned in.

“Don’t really know anyone here.” He settled back against the booth. “We have routine psych evaluations, but you never get used to it. Just have to think of the victims and their families and not let it all drag you under.”

He opened his mouth to continue, to confess that yes, sometimes he did need an outlet for his stress. That he felt lonely, and it weighed on him more than he’d like to admit. Also, that he was sitting across from someone whom he’d very much like to be a person he could talk to and spend time with on a regular basis, but he didn’t think it would be fair to put her in that place. She was far more to him than a convenient therapist.

This was their first time out together, would it be premature to admit such things? He stuffed a forkful of mixed greens into his mouth instead.

She tilted her head. “Where you going to say something else?”

“Hm? No.”

Hannah nodded, sitting back, and bit the inside of her lip. She looked a bit dejected, and panic seized his chest as he realized what she’d been hinting at with those demure glances. She’d been pretty much inviting him to admit that he wanted her—or, well. That he wanted someone to talk to. And that he’d want that person to be her.

But before he could clarify, their food arrived, and a band began setting up in the back of the pub, stealing her attention. It was some sort of local folk group with a fiddle and mandolin. The woman with the mandolin addressed the crowd, introducing herself and her bandmate. Hannah and Alec took the opportunity to focus on their respective meals until the music began.

Alec looked across to Hannah as the violin took off with a haunting rendition of… some familiar song. The mandolin joined in, and the woman began to sing and that’s when it clicked.  _Wicked Game_. Though it was nice set to this style of music, tuned it out as he prodded at his salad.

“There’ll be a trial next, yeah?” Hannah asked before biting into her sandwich.

“If his defense team persuades him to plead not guilty, yes.”

“Why the hell would they do that? He’s guilty.”

“Their job is to defend him. If they feel there’s any question surrounding his guilt, they’ll want to take it to trial to introduce new evidence in hopes to pardon him, or at least lighten his sentence.”

Hannah furrowed her brow. “You don’t think that’ll happen, do you?”

After Broadchurch, he’d believe anything, but Hannah didn’t have to share his cynicism. He drank from his tea and shook his head.

“No. We have solid evidence against him.”

“That’s a relief.” She focused on the musicians as she sipped her wine.

Shit. She was getting bored, and worse, he made her feel rejected. He pushed the salad around on his plate, unable to think straight with the lyrics hovering around them like his thoughts were projected out loud for her to hear. It was ridiculous; she wouldn’t infer that at all, but it still embarrassed him. Felt like a bloody teenager around her.

“You said you’re writing a book?”

She turned back toward him. “Yeah. I’ve written one before, but this one’s different.”

“How is it going?”

“Eh, it’s going.” She paused to take a bite, and shook her head as she swallowed. “No, it’s not. It sucks! It’s horrible, oh God. I’ve got a literature degree, you’d think I could do this.”

“Analyzing someone else’s work is a very different animal than writing your own, I’d imagine.”

She flashed a smile. “Yeah. There’s this critical voice in my head that won’t shut up. It’s like I’m haunted by every question I’ve had to answer at uni.” She sat up and made a face, affecting an arrogant voice. “How does this passage reveal the author’s religious and political views? Ahh!”

Alec smiled. “I’m going to ask you a question I’m sure you hate, but I can’t help it.”

“Oh, no.”

“What’s it about?”

Hannah laughed, and Alec’s stomach flipped back into place. He leaned in, his hand sliding closer to hers on the table.

“I dunno, it’s just about people.” She shrugged a shoulder. “I’ve been mostly writing scenes that pop into my head hoping that I’ll get an idea for the bigger story.”

“Any luck?”

“Not really. But I was thinking of everything that’s happened lately. Maybe I could write that into a story, you know? The serial killer who goes after call girls.”

“And the brave woman who took him down.”

Her eyes brightened as she smiled. “Yeah. I like it. I’ll change things of course. People’s names and stuff.”

The song began to wind down, and Hannah clapped along with the rest of the pub before reaching for his hand and brushing her fingers across his knuckles. He straightened at the contact, pulse pounding in his ears.

“What’re we doing after this?” she asked.

The next song began to play, but he couldn’t be arsed to care what it was with that suggestive look in her eyes. He wrapped his fingers under her hand, mirroring her soft caresses on her palm.

“I’ll walk you home.”

Her eyes darted to his lips. “Such a gentleman.”

He shifted in his seat, his trousers becoming uncomfortable. Now he  _really_ felt like a teenager.

The waitress appeared with a cheery grin to drop off their bill and pick up their plates, and the moment was spoilt.

Soon after, they left, and the air outside was crisp. Alec put his coat over Hannah’s shoulders, and she remained close to him as they followed along their previous route back to her flat.

Alec walked with her up to her door, and she passed his coat back to him.

“Want to come inside?”

Oh, he wanted to, but his stomach twisted at the idea. He didn’t want a one night stand, and if he walked through that door, he’d be unable to turn her down. He needed to know that she felt the same, and all the words he could possibly say to explain that were a jumble in his head. He’d cock this up for sure, so instead he leaned in to kiss her. Just a soft brush of his lips against hers.

She began to kiss him back, and he placed his hand gently on her waist to anchor himself to the moment. Her body was so warm under his touch, even through her dress. He groaned as a spike of desire travelled through him, her taste and her smell awakening sensations in his body that he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

She must’ve taken that as a signal to move into a decidedly less chaste and far more heated territory, for her hand then crept up his jacket, fingers gripping his lapel to pull him against herself. He felt her tongue brush along his lower lip, and the world around them spun away in a dizzying rush.

His body began to respond to her, and she made a soft sound at the back of her throat before she pulled away with a wet pop. Her eyes were dark, and her face was flushed with want.

“Not tonight then?” she said, her voice husky.

His chest rose and fell with each staggered breath and he swallowed thickly. “Another time.”

She nodded, her tongue wetting her lips. “I hope so.” She smiled. “Goodnight, Alec.”

“Night, Hannah.”

She closed the door, leaving him alone in the hallway to stew in his arousal.

 

III.

A few days later, Alec rounded up Ruby, and accompanied Hannah to the gravesites of the serial killer’s victims.  He watched the two women place flowers at Faye Delaney’s headstone, his hands stuffed into his coat pockets to keep away the bite of a breeze.

Hannah then bent down to touch the name etched in the stone tablet, and his heart fluttered in his chest.  They hadn’t been able to see each other since their date, as he’d become immersed in his next case.  She’d called with this brilliant excuse—well, he supposed that to her it was more than just an excuse, but he eagerly accepted the offer. She stood and walked towards him, her eyes shining with tears.

Ruby remained by the grave a few feet away, and was focused on her mobile, so Alec took the opportunity to covertly place his hand on the small of Hannah’s back as she came to stand next to him. She smiled and rubbed his arm.

“All right?” He spoke softly, leaning his head closer to her ear.

“Yeah. Thanks for coming. I know you’re busy.”

“Witness pre-trial follow-up, err, for the prosecution barrister.” He smiled.

“Brilliant. Can you use that one often?” She bit her lip as she matched his smile.

Ruby approached before he could respond, and he and Hannah quickly stepped apart from each other. Ruby’s eyes narrowed and the corner of her lip quirked, but she made no comment.

“Where next?” asked Alec.

“This way, looks like.” Ruby looked up towards a copse of gnarled trees in the distance. “Bit of a walk, but lucky for us it’s at the same site.”

They followed Ruby along the pathway that veered down a hill towards the last grave. Hannah picked up her pace so she could walk next to her. Alec watched her go, and then focused on his surroundings as the two women began to converse.

“I’m glad you could come along,” said Hannah.

“Me too. It’s very kind of you. Doing this. I know this last one—well, the first victim, Carla, she had no family.”  

“That’s so sad.” Hannah looked away with a frown. After a beat, she looked back towards Ruby. “Listen, I don’t think I got to properly thank you for your help, you know, during the case.”

Ruby smiled, stuffing her mobile back into her jacket pocket. “Just doing my job. Anyway, you’re the one who knew something was off.”

Hannah returned Ruby’s smile.  “It’s only because we were at my house and I know how things should be. But that’s not what I meant. You could’ve kept things strictly to business.”

She glanced over her shoulder towards Alec. It was brief, non-accusatory, but it made him a bit frustrated nonetheless. She had to know why he pulled away after the case. Maybe it still hurt her either way. Well, he’d have to rectify that. He pretended not to notice the glance as she continued.

“Could’ve not come along with me to the bar, or told me it wouldn’t be a good idea to take flowers to my house. And you did it knowing about me. What I do. Felt good to have a friend around is what I’m saying. I was able to feel normal, so, yeah. Thanks.”

“Aw, well, it’s the least I could do. Your lifestyle doesn’t matter to me anyway. I felt you were safe, so why not also help you feel a bit less like a caged animal.” Ruby stuffed her hands into her pockets as they walked.

“Yeah, exactly.” Hannah giggled, and then lowered her voice. “So, what’s it like working with him?”

“It’s—”

“I can hear you,” Alec said with a quirked eyebrow.

Ruby laughed. “Best not answer that, then! Oh, here we are.”

They stopped at the grave and placed the flowers. Ruby’s mobile rang, and she stepped away to answer it. Hannah remained by the grave for a couple of minutes before returning to Alec’s side.

“So when can I see you again?” Alec asked, lowering his voice.

“Tomorrow night? I’ve a client for brunch, and then I’m free the rest of the day.”

Alec shifted and looked away, squinting in the sunlight. “Tomorrow night’s perfect.”

Hannah cocked her head to the side. “You all right?”

“Just need to get used to it.”

“It’s a girlfriend experience. No sex, so. I went ahead and booked it. I decided not to take the other sort of client until we talk about it a bit more.”

He nodded, inhaling deeply. “Thank you. I mean, you didn’t have to do that.”

She smiled. “I’ve learnt from my mistakes. At least I hope.”

“Girlfriend experience, eh?”

“Yeah. Men who want a date to a social event, or for company so they don’t feel like a loser going to the opera alone. This one is for his sister’s wedding, and his family is very against—well. I’m there so they don’t suspect that he’s really shagging one of the other groomsmen on the regular.”

“Ah.” Alec chuckled. “You could make a living taking only that kind of client, I’d imagine. Not that I’m suggesting…”

But really, maybe he was? Clients she wouldn’t have sex with would be easier for him to accept longer term. Ultimately, though, it was her decision. It’s just… could he handle being with a woman who shagged other men for a living, after what his wife did to him? He felt himself scowling, and looked away. This whole thing was probably a really bad—

“Alec.” Hannah reached up and straightened his tie, pulling him out of his thoughts. “We’ll talk about it soon, okay? Promise.”

His chest tightened as he turned his attention back to her, eyes roaming her face. Her lips were parted, and he wanted more than anything to lean in and kiss them.

“I’ll ring you about tomorrow.” He began to reach out to move a strand of hair from out of her eyes, but clenched his fist at his side instead.

“We should get back,” said Ruby. She walked up to them, staring at her mobile, brows pulled together. “They located the victim’s sister finally.”

“Right.” Alec turned away from both of them and headed back for the cemetery carpark.

 

IV.

Hannah groaned after reading a text from Byron on her way home from the wedding. Bambi was in labour, and she couldn’t miss it. Not for anything. But she had planned on meeting Alec in a few hours, and she didn’t want to miss  _that_ for anything, either. Didn’t giving birth take forever anyway? She decided she’d hold out on cancelling until she was sure.

She had the taxi stop outside of a baby boutique a street over, determined to pick out a gift way ahead of time as though it might make up for every other irresponsible thing she’d done.

Everything about the store gave her a deeply unnerved feeling, and she panicked as the shelves of eco-conscious wooden toys, cloth nappies, and homemade baby food-making kits passed her by.

What the hell do newborns even need?She sighed and grabbed a stuffed elephant and a set of blankets in gender-neutral tones, because she forgot if Bambi was having a boy or a girl, and really, what baby is going to care about such a thing anyway?

Purchases made, she slid back into the taxi and resumed the course home.

Barely an hour till she was about to leave to meet Alec, Byron rang again. The wail of a baby could be heard in the background as he excitedly went on about how the labour was fast, so fast there was no time for the epidural. Bambi was currently attempting to feed the baby, which was why she was so fussy, and that visiting hours were over at eight.

She immediately rang Alec once the conversation was over.

 _“_   _Hello._   _”_

"Hi.” her heart leapt at the sound of his voice, and the guilt twisted harder. “I'm so sorry, but I've got to head to the hospital tonight.”

“ _The hospital? Everything all right?_ _”_

“Yeah, Bambi had the baby, and I’ve gotta be there.”

“ _Sure, you should. I understand._ _”_

“I’m leaving now, so, maybe we can meet up later tonight?”

He was silent for a moment, and she heard him draw in a breath.  _"You can come by my place after. I live near the hospital."_

Even better than seeing a film. She agreed with a smile in her voice, and saved his address into her mobile.

 

V.

Hannah left the hospital with a strange buzz in her stomach. Holding the baby gave her odd maternal sensations that she’d rather never indulge, except on loan. It would pass.

She arrived at Alec’s flat with a bottle of wine, and he invited her in after kissing her cheek. They ordered takeaway at an Indian place—she’d ask him why he always ordered salads or in this instance, mild biryani rice, at some point—and settled on the sofa to watch a film on  _Netflix_.

Midway through the meal, Alec received a call. He left Hannah to watch alone as he lingered in the kitchenette.

“Hello darling,” he said, smiling. “You really wanna do that? Oh, she’s not that bad. If you think she’s bad, you haven’t stayed with me long enough. I know, love. Yeah, next weekend is good for me. Love you. Bye.”

He stopped by the loo before returning to the sofa, and Hannah grinned at him.

“Your daughter?”

He nodded. “She needs a break from her mother, she says.”

“Ah, I know that feeling.”

Alec’s lip quirked.

They finished their meals and she settled against him to watch the rest of the movie. When it was over, Hannah excused herself to the loo and brushed her teeth with the toothpaste and toothbrush kept in her purse just for this very occasion. She’d hate for him to taste aloo gobi on her tongue.

When she returned, he was studying his blackberry. She walked up to him and paused close to his knees. Her head as he glanced up at her.

He set his blackberry aside without taking his eyes off of her. “Are you leaving?”

She smiled and slid by his legs to sit next to him, her hip pressing against his. “No.” She twisted slightly to face him. “I was hoping I could stay over. If that’s okay?”

His posture straightened, and he stared at her, unblinking. “No, that’s—that’s fine.”

“Good.”

He placed his arm along the back of the sofa behind her. “Uhm, how was the wedding?”

“Oh, it was gorgeous, if a little churchy.”

“I’m assuming your client’s ruse was a success, then?”

She giggled. “Yes, very much so. I even guarded the gents so they could have a little private snog.”

Alec reached for her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. “And your friend with the wee baby?”

“So tiny! Slept on my shoulder for a bit whilst I caught up with Bambi.” Hannah slid her free arm around his shoulders. “What of your day?”

“Nowhere near as exciting.”

She stroked his shoulder, her fingers grazing the nape of his neck. “I promised you a talk.”

His brows lifted. “Right now?”

She rose and slung a leg over his lap, straddling him. Once settled stride his thighs, she slid her hands over his shoulders to grasp his tie, her fingers working the knot.

“Do you mind terribly if we wait till the morning?” She flicked her gaze up to meet his eyes.

He had a stupefied look on his face. “No.” He hesitated. “Although, I do need to warn you of something.”

“Mm?” She kissed his neck, nose nuzzling the bristles on his jaw.

“Can’t talk to me about any of your financial transactions.”

Her kisses moved up to just behind his ear, and she paused to nibble his lobe before responding. “What financial transactions?”

“Right.”

She smiled and kissed him. He responded with instant vigour the moment her lips touched his, arms winding around her back, cradling her closer. She melted into the kiss, her body warming under his touch. The dress she wore was bunched up across her lap, exposing her thighs. It took no time for him to notice as the caresses along her back moved down to her thighs. But he kept his hands above her skirt.

His beard scratched her skin as he moved his mouth to her throat. She arched, pressing her breasts to his chest and sliding down to trap his growing erection against her centre. A moan of anticipation escaped her lips, and her blood ran hot, straight down to her core. He shifted, and his cock rubbed deliciously against her clit. Even through their clothing layers, it sent a shock through her and she gasped by his ear.

His heart beat wildly in his chest, matching hers. She raked her fingers through his hair, finding it just as soft as she expected. He shuddered, smiling, as his fingers slid purposefully under her dress to cup her arse, anchoring her. That was her signal to shamelessly rock her hips against his still-confined erection. Tingles of pleasure coursed through her, making her pant for breath.

He sought out her lips once more as he drew his hands back down to slide under her skirt, skimming over the lace of her knickers, to her back. Cool air against her sides made gooseflesh rise over her skin, his hands moving up farther. She grasped the hem of the frock and tugged it over her head for him.

He pulled away from the kiss to gaze at her, his eyes roaming her features until they settled on her chest. She touched the line of lace along her swell of her breast and his eyes followed the motion. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“You can touch me.”

He looked up at her, eyes darker than she’s ever seen them. “Is that all?”

Hannah smiled, slowly sliding his tie from around his neck, the ends dragging between her breasts as she pulled it over her shoulder and let it drop behind her. “I hope not.”

He practically growled and leaned in to kiss between her breasts. Her eyes fluttered closed and she bit her lip. It wasn’t long before his mouth found her nipple through the lace. She gasped as he grazed it with his teeth, the sensation enhanced by the friction of fabric.

He moved to the other nipple, sucking it to a peak through her bra as he reached around to unclasp the little garment. She slid it off and tossed it aside, adding a little sultry stretch to the effort, which he indulged by palming her breasts. His thumbs circled her nipples slowly, and watched for her reaction. She smiled, enticing him by pressing her chest into his hands.

His hands roamed her torso, feather-light touches driving her mad along her sides and over her breasts. She rocked her hips, feeling needy, and he groaned.

With very little finesse, drawing giggles from her, he turned and lowered her so that she lay back against the cushions of the sofa. He removed his shirt and trousers, and then climbed over her, holding himself aloft so they could lose themselves in a heated kiss.

But he had other plans as his mouth left hers and began to head down over her abdomen. He caressed her thigh, splaying his long fingers over her skin, and gently opened her leg. The heat had pooled between her legs, creating a nice wet patch on her knickers.

His jaw clenched. “Oh, Hannah.”

He touched her with the pads of his fingers, right over the wet patch, and began to massage in slow circles.

Hannah moaned, her head falling back against the cushion.  He cupped under her thigh so his thumb could replace his fingers, rubbing over her knickers so her sex made those wet sounds. His breath hitched as he leaned closer, and she felt his beard against her inner thigh. He then pulled aside her knickers with his thumb to expose her slick folds.

With gentleness that belied his eager gaze, he pried apart her outer lips with his fingers, and slid them upwards, grazing them around her clit so agonizingly slow that she thought she might explode. After a few massaging passes of his fingers to spread the moisture around further, he slid them into her sex, one at a time.

“Oh, god,  _Alec_ ,” she gasped, and her eyes slammed shut when the tip of his tongue began to tease her clit with the light little laps. He hummed in response, and her hips undulated, seeking out the vibration.

She felt empty, even though her muscles clenched around his fingers as he pumped them into her with a more deliberate rhythm. She needed his cock, and the thought of it slamming into her made her body tense up just as he closed his mouth around her clit, forming light suction. One last flick of his tongue and she came hard, her trembling moan filling his small flat.

He sat up after easing her down with gentle, massaging passes of his thumb over her knickers, which he’d moved back into place. She sat up as well, and cradled his face in her palms to kiss him, tasting herself on his tongue. Her hand trailed down to his shoulder, and farther over his chest, down his abdomen. He sucked in a breath when her hand brushed against his cock.

“Bloody hell, woman.”

“Want you,” she breathed between kisses. “Hang on.”

He nodded, watching her with heavily lidded eyes.

She reached for her purse to find a condom, and returned to ease the shaft of his cock out of the opening of his pants. She tore the condom wrapper open with her teeth as she palmed his balls, and his head flopped against the back of the sofa, his fingers running through her hair with tenderness that made her heart swell in her chest. She rolled the condom onto him, and then stood to slip out of her knickers.

He reached for her as she straddled him once more, and she lined up his cock to her entrance. Their eyes locked together for a brief moment before she sank down onto him.

He thrust up on reflex with a loud groan, and she began to rock on him, the motion of her hips drawing him into and out of her heat with delicious friction. His hands roamed over her back and down to clutch her arse. She leaned against him, peppering him with kisses along his throat and shoulders. It wasn’t a particularly good position to get very deep, but she wanted him to think of this every time he sat on his sofa. Arching her back, she was able to shift the angle a little. His hands moved to clutch her thighs, and she began to moan with his thrusts, which had grown more erratic.

She was not as close, but from his staggered breathing and quickened pace, she could tell he wouldn’t able to hold out.

"Hannah, I'm—"

"It’s okay,” she rested her forehead against his, his breath puffing against her cheek. “Come, Alec." 

Barely two thrusts later, he moaned as he came, burrowing his face in the curve of her neck. She clenched around his pulsing cock (god, she loved that sensation), fingernails digging into his skin. Their breathing filled the room as their moans fell silent, sweat sheen forming on their bodies. He lifted his head, and she smiled as she kissed him.

"Sorry." He mumbled, kissing her shoulder.

"What for?"

"I couldn't hold on. Have the sodding condom to thank for being able to hold out as long as I did."

Hannah ran her fingers through his hair. "Been a while for you. It's okay. Besides, you'd made me ready for more."

"Mm.” He wrapped his arms around her. “Have to make sure I’m not dreaming first.”

She giggled looped her arms around his shoulders. “Nope. Not dreaming.” She kissed him. “This is really happening, I’m afraid.”

He smiled, and ran his fingers through her hair. He settled his hand on her jaw, and brushed his thumb over the apple of her cheek. The look in his eyes frightened her a little. It held so much longing and reverence, that her stomach twisted as she tried to feel worthy of it in the slightest.

“Fairly certain I’m dreaming.”

“A good dream, then?” She tilted her head into his palm.

He nodded.

She kissed his thumb as it passed over her lips. “Then let’s hope we never wake up.”

 

VI.

Hannah awoke the following morning all warm and cocooned in Alec’s smell. She nuzzled the sheets and smiled, breathing him in deeply. He was lying against her, the big spoon to her little, with his arm draped over her waist and his breath rustling her hair. She could hear him snoring softly as he slumbered, and though she had the instinctive urge to sneak out of bed and head home before he woke, she fought it off. He deserved better than that, and she’d try her best not to sabotage her own happiness.

There was a persistent sensation in her chest, like her heart had taken flight and was in no rush to land any time soon. She’d let it soar, and maybe even fall in love.

Sure, they had a few obstacles to overcome. His being a copper and her having an illicit career the least of them. But their initial openness, and his show of unwavering reliability during the investigation helped her to feel more secure than she could ever remember feeling before in a relationship.

Then there was that persistent voice in her mind, telling her that it wouldn’t last. 

His arm tightened around her, and she sank farther into his embrace. He stirred as her bum brushed against his erection.

“Morning,” he said, voice a rumble.

Hannah smiled and wiggled her bum. “Morning to  _you_.”

“Mmm.” He kissed the back of her neck.

The voice in her mind went silent. It often would once she became aroused. “Let’s stay here all day.”

His kisses moved to her shoulder. “M’not going anywhere.”

She sighed, bliss unfurling with every caress of his hand over her skin. “I knew I could count on you.”

 


End file.
